Ethan called the postpartum nurse next.
She sounded shocked.
“Your mother told me Claire’s sister had moved in,” she said. “She said the family wanted privacy.”
“Claire doesn’t have a sister.”
There was a long pause.
“I can be there at seven tomorrow morning,” the nurse replied.
Ethan then ordered groceries, formula, medicine, diapers, and prepared meals from three different stores.
While waiting for the deliveries, he made Claire oatmeal and scrambled eggs from supplies he bought at a nearby convenience store. It was not an elegant New Year’s dinner, but Claire ate every bite.
At 11:55 p.m., Ethan sat beside her on the sofa with Lily sleeping against his chest.
There were no fireworks inside their home.
No party.
No champagne.
Only the soft ticking of the clock and the quiet sound of their daughter breathing.
When midnight arrived, Ethan kissed Claire’s forehead.
“This year,” he whispered, “no one gets to convince you that you’re alone.”
